Hell Hath No Fury
by Evil-Irish-Wolf
Summary: SLASH! B/J! Even though Batman is being kissed by Catwoman, all he can think about is the Joker, who is shall we say... slightly angry.


**Disclaimer:** Property of: Warner Bros, DC Comics, Legendary Films, Chris Nolan, Bale and Ledger. WHY?!

**Warnings: **_**Slash J/B, as per usual! HET!! Only in the beginning, but seriously I don't want my fans completely scarred for life. Close your eyes for that part!**_

--So while I was writing the sequel to _**He'll Show Them**_, this little ficlet came into my brain. Not sure if it can be expanded upon, but you know, nothing is ever certain.

--Much love to my Beta _**Compy **_for fixing all my ridiculous mistakes.

**This is slightly different than my other works, but I hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

**Hell hath no fury…**

**By: EIW**

"_That's the plan. Rule the world, you and me, any day." –Dr. Horrible_

* * *

Two figures, both clad in black, stepped upon the rooftop. They stared at one another for quite a while. The man said something of no importance. The woman quipped back with something of even less importance. Nothing that was being said was at all relevant.

They stood a few feet apart. With every word that distance became less and less distinct, until they finally closed the small space that was in between them and their black outlines could no longer be distinguished. Their forms wrapped around one another in delight.

Catwoman and Batman were locked in a kiss high atop a building.

* * *

Catwoman was elated.

She'd been hunting this Caped Crusader down for quite a while. She felt justified in taking her reward. She'd _earned_ this night. Her last few heists had been escalating and that called for something more than the police. Her hips swayed wantonly to an unheard rhythm as she kissed the Dark Knight in rapture, completely blissful and unresponsive to anything else that didn't involve Batman.

* * *

Batman himself was slightly confused.

He was aware that this extremely attractive woman was kissing him. He wasn't a complete idiot. He understood the logistics of the situation, but what he was confused about was how he felt about it.

He was supposed to feel overwhelmed or frenzied with passion or _something_. In all honesty, he just felt awkward and slightly annoyed. He hadn't come here for this. He had a million things he needed to do that night. The Joker was planning something. The clown always was, especially after he just escaped from Arkham…again. He'd have to talk to the security guards, assuming that there were any still alive; there had to be _some_ way to keep the Joker in there.

Batman didn't have time to play romance. His life was too hectic to begin with. This is the sort of thing that was best left to Bruce Wayne, not Batman. Bruce _had_ to be engaged in this sort of thing. It was the part that he played. However, Batman was sure that he'd done enough of this during daylight hours. He had a city to keep safe and he had a clown to hunt down.

Besides, he didn't feel anything for this woman, so this entire thing was utterly pointless.

There was no fire or electrical spark. He felt lifeless as she began to kiss his chin. Her lips were slick with gloss and it was sticky, which caused their lips to keep sliding away from one another, making it very hard to actually get any sort of hold. Her hands were petting his hair in a very soothing way and her nails scratched the sides of his face. It didn't hurt, but Bruce's face was turning a slight pink where she'd scratched him. It was kind of annoying.

Catwoman's hips stuck out at an uncomfortable angle through her vinyl suit. Their bodies seemed to be protesting the pairing. Bruce's strong build was too muscular for a petite woman. Her hips were curved and bony and they kept digging into his right side, which already hurt because the Joker had tried to drop a car on top of him from the police station's roof the previous night. Batman had no idea how the maniac had gotten a car on top of the police department with no one noticing, but it had almost crushed him to death. Oh, and then the Joker had tried to stab him and set him on fire, just the usual Thursday night in Gotham.

Batman had no idea where to put his hands, so he left them at his sides until Catwoman grabbed them and pulled them to her back. Batman let them hover over the small of her back while she pressed herself into him, shimming closer with every moment. He unconsciously pulled back, leaning his face farther and farther away, which only caused Catwoman to press herself even closer to him.

Batman stood there a few more moments, trying to figure out how to get this 'lady' off of him, without hurting her feelings. He had work to do and she wasn't helping with all the kissing and touching and _grinding_.

* * *

The Joker was shocked.

He'd been following the Batman, like he always did. He'd sent his hench-clowns home early. They always got in the way and distracted Batman's attentions away from him, which was completely unacceptable. The Joker loved being the center of Batman's universe. He craved being the sole person that Batman's life revolved around. He put in uncountable hours and hundreds of schemes, all of which focused on gaining Batman's _full _attention.

And now, that _thing_ was touching _his_ Batman.

His purple gloved hands began to shake slightly. The Joker quickly balled them up into fists and the gloves gave a small squeak in protest. The white faced villain growled gruffly against the window, causing his breath to fog up the glass. The Joker ran a hand through his matted, green tinged hair and tried to breathe deeply.

It was a breathing technique that was supposed to help with anger. He'd learned it from his many stints at Arkham. He'd been there numerous times and he couldn't _always_ ignore the psychologists and doctors. Well, he could, but it got awfully boring after the first few days. After his latest Batman memories had become overly scrutinized and his brain felt heavy from replaying his newest Batman happenings on loop for several days, the Joker had to find another way to amuse himself as he devised yet another way to escape from the asylum. Thus, paying slight attention to the employees at Arkham was occupationally necessary.

The Joker glanced back out the smudged window, hoping that what he'd seen had been some sort of delusion. He wasn't the sanest person. He was aware of that, but if what he had been seeing was an illusion, he'd check himself into Arkham simply because it was beyond sickening. He hoped that his mind was simply playing tricks on him. It did that sometimes, but it never played tricks with Batman.

He was off limits.

His brain was too interested in that person to mess around with the catalog of vivid memories. It was quite odd, though, because the Joker didn't have other memories, the kind that didn't involve Batman. He couldn't remember his parents, or how he got his scars, or how he'd come to Gotham in the first place. His brain simply dubbed those items as extraneous material and threw them out, but not Batman. Batman memories were stored in the deep recesses of the Joker's mind, locked away for his use only. They stayed perfect and flawless. The Joker _loved_ those memories. No matter how many he collected from his numerous fights with the Dark Knight, the Joker never forgot a single detail.

Batman was too important.

The Joker raised his black painted eyes back out the dirty window. A few streets down, on a random building, Batman was kissing that Catwoman lady. The Joker's eyes stung green with jealousy.

He felt his insides wrench.

His stomach reeled into itself and his chest jolted and compressed inwards. The Joker found it hard to breathe. He stared at the sight of the two darkly dressed figures, arms entwined and faces pressed together. Batman's cape was wrapped around the woman and it fluttered dramatically in the wind. The Joker's mind was silent for a few moments, taking the scene in, allowing himself to stay still and simply watch.

The Joker's eyes were swirling with various emotions as if they couldn't decide which one was most appropriate. Anger, jealousy, and possessive greed were all accompanied by an undistinguishable soft emotion, which would skim across the surface of his deep brown eyes, making him glance at the floor and back out through the window repeatedly as if begging it not to be real. It was a look that was hard to imagine on such a twisted, wicked face.

However, this tug of war of emotions only lasted a brief moment. The mishmash of various feelings was soon overthrown by absolute rage. The Joker slammed his fist into the brick wall of the building, looking dangerously irate as he looked out the window one last time. He twirled around violently, his purple trench coat whirling around him and his head bent down so that his hair covered his face. His eyes sparkled dangerously with a toxic vigor.

He walked into the street and off into a dark alleyway. Slipping into the shadows of the unlit alley, the Joker made it to his 'secret lair' and quickly devised a plan to get that _woman_ away from _his_ arch-nemesis. He wasn't up for the taking and if Batman wasn't going to tell her then he certainly would.

The Joker suddenly stopped filling up the various gas tanks and stood very rigid as a horrifying thought skated across his mind, planting a deep root of anxiety into his very being. Perhaps, Batman had _forgotten _him. He'd been in Arkham quite a while this go around. Well, he'd been in a coma for a few weeks; Batman had done a number on him that time. It had been marvelous and the Joker could still remember the look that Batman had given him right before he'd blacked out.

It was a look that came from deep within. It was a look that was so personal and raw that not many people ever saw it, but the Joker was always privileged to the best that Batman had to offer. That look was seared into the Joker's very dark and rotten core. He'd remember the intensity behind Batman's gaze forever. The best thing about it was that it'd been directed at _him_.

Coming back to the present though, the Joker realized that it had been a few months since he'd seen the Dark Knight. His stomach twisted with a twang of anxiety. There's no way that Batman could have forgotten about him already. He'd just seen him the other night, but maybe he hadn't realized who it was. Perhaps, all criminals looked the same to the Batman. Well, the Joker would show him. After all that he'd done, after all the people he'd killed and all the things he'd blown up, there's no way that he'd let himself be pushed into obscurity so easily, and by a _girl_ no less.

Well, it was no matter. He'd make Batman remember. The Dark Knight wouldn't have a choice. The Joker would rip those forgotten memories to the front of Batman's head. Make him relive their every moment together all over again. He'd see that no _girl_ could compare to him, that _no one_ could compare to the Joker.

A giggle escaped from the Joker's mouth and suddenly he was leaning against the gas canisters, laughing hysterically until his eyes were red and his throat was raw. It had been too long since he'd blown something up.

* * *

Batman soon found himself pushed up against a chimney with Catwoman's nails digging into his chest. He decided that this was enough. He opened his eyes, getting ready to push the woman off of him, when he caught a glimpse of something white, something very white, something that was the Joker's face paint white. Batman's heart sped up vigorously. Warmth sunk into his body, into his very bones. His body had cooled down from standing on top of the building with all the gusts of night wind.

Batman's dark eyes were staring intently at the building. They raked across the window, trying desperately to see into the dark room. He glanced at a few other windows that adorned the large vacant building with riveting attention. He knew that face anywhere. It haunted him all hours, teasing him to try and catch him without the uniform, without the formalities that came with the title of 'Batman.' At night, the Joker's face left him sleepless. He'd toss and turn for hours, thinking of different scenarios and various ways to catch the clown. Batman thought endlessly about that face. There was no mistaking it, even from this distance.

The Joker had seen him.

Something told Batman that that wasn't a good thing. He suddenly felt a tug in his stomach. It felt almost like guilt. It was a silly thing to feel. Batman wasn't in any sort of relationship with anyone, let alone the Joker, but he still couldn't shake that dead weight in his stomach. It anchored him to his task at hand, getting away from this vinyl clad vixen. His conscience was nagging at him, tugging him towards the streets, whispering ideas to him, urging him to go.

His very being was fixated on finding the Joker. He needed to find him, fight with him, eventually win, and send him on his way to Arkham. That's the way that it worked, the way Gotham worked. That's the way the _world_ worked, the universe itself worked. Batman realized this as it fired across his mind, searing the irreversible truth into his brain.

This girl couldn't understand.

For even though she wore a costume and had a secret identity, she didn't fully understand him, she was incapable of understanding him. She'd never understand his need to save this city or his need to be Batman. Batman was ever unyielding and ever the perfect respondent of justice. She was just a girl in a costume. She didn't understand that this was really him. She'd never be able to understand that this was not a costume.

Batman suddenly dislodged the girl from attacking his lips. He dove off the roof of the building, but right as he jumped into the air, he quickly shot a rope from his grappling gun at her legs and strung her up upside down, effectively keeping her still until Gordon arrived.

Her screams and curses were heard for miles, but Batman was unconcerned. He just needed to find the Joker. Batman could feel that he was up to something. He could always feel when the Joker was causing troubles. There was never a question. It was instinctual. Batman just knew.

He vigorously searched every part of the city and it revealed nothing. The Joker was, for all accounts, missing. Bruce Wayne took his mask off and slipped his suit off solemnly in the make-shift Bat-cave. He cringed slightly as the suit rubbed against some not fully healed wounds. His right side was bruised an array of purple and green. He stared at it for a few moments before he shook himself out of his jumbled and lost thoughts and walked over to the shower, starting up the water.

This was his favorite part of the daytime. Bruce loved the feeling of being clean. He enjoyed being Batman, but it was always nice to have that warm water clean him of his deeds of the night, to clear his head and begin the transformation from Batman to Bruce Wayne. It was always a difficult transition and it got harder every day. Bruce anticipated that at some point, he wouldn't be able to parade around as Bruce anymore. One day, he just wouldn't be able to take the suit off. That thought scared him at times, so he tried not to think about it too much, but it was an ever foreboding feeling that danced around in his brain, rattling about at the most inconvenient of times.

He glanced quickly at the small mirror before he stepped into the shower and his nose scrunched up in disgust. Bruce's mouth was smudged with a glossy shiny substance. He rubbed his mouth with his hand. Most of it came off, but it was just a reminder of what had happened last night. He didn't know why he hadn't pushed her off right away. It must have been because she appeared to be so like him. The only other person that was relatively similar to him was the Joker, so it was nice to meet a semi-sane person that wore costumes too.

However, Bruce soon discovered that he'd been kidding himself, he thought broodingly as he stepped into the steamy water. She was just a random person, wearing a suit and stealing petty things. There was no message behind what she did, there was no meaning. She was a shallow person. Her motives and values were as transparent as her lip gloss. She didn't stand for anything. Batman was nothing like her. The Joker was nothing like her.

It scared Bruce when he thought things like that, admitting that he understood the clown. He understood him better than he'd understood anyone else in his life. He knew that when they fought, he'd never felt so exhilarated. Bruce had always hid behind his money and various exploits with women. He'd never felt like he could openly be himself. However, with the appearance of the Joker, Bruce had learned that this was who he was. Batman was who he was.

Once again, it appeared that it was only the Joker and Batman that were left standing. It always seemed to come down to the two of them. Everything else seemed to fade away after time, but the Joker was always there, promoting anarchy and wrecking havoc. For an agent chaos, he was very reliable and stable in that sense. Bruce couldn't remember a time when he wasn't there, in Gotham city and in his thoughts.

He was always there, in the recesses of Bruce's mind. He darted back and forth into his conscious thoughts, ghosting throughout his subconscious and tampering with his thought process. The Joker was always there. His presence wasn't overly obvious, but then again, the man wasn't very transparent either, unless of course he wanted to be.

Bruce quickly put on his clothes and stepped out of the bathroom area. He'd had it installed so he'd never have to leave. Alfred didn't approve, but he accepted it and always brought him food because he frequently forgot to eat. There was too much happening in the world to remember that even he needed food. Alfred was his favorite person. He truly didn't judge anyone and he was always on Bruce's side, even when he knew it probably wasn't the right one.

As Bruce finished drying his hair, a loud rumbling caught him off guard as it shook the ground. It felt like an earthquake. Bruce quickly flicked on the News on the computer monitors. Another thunderous blast thumped through the city, vibrating against the ground.

_"Apparently, Mike, the city is under attack. Buildings are blowing up left and right. So far, there have been reports that Gotham Elementary School was hit. There are no reports on the death toll there. It was a student holiday, but teachers were required to go in." _

_"We've got reports that a few of the surrounding hospitals were blown up--"…BOOM!_

_  
"Rubble is falling from above, Mike. It's absolute chaos on the streets of Gotham."_

_"Thanks, Karen. Be careful. We've just gotten news that the Harbor Shipping Yard has been blown up and that Sunrise Lakes, a retirement home, has also been bombed. The police have issued no response, but if you stick with Gotham News, we'll bring you the latest coverage on our new segment, __**Gotham: Under Attack!"**_

Bruce stared at the orange and red flames that were erupting from the city. Debris rained from the skies and cameras were juggling horrifying images of death and destruction, estimated death tolls were flashing across the bottom screen. Bruce leaned forward so that his elbows were on the desk and pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes.

All those people…

The Joker had done this. Batman knew that. He could feel it and he couldn't help but think that this was partially his fault.

He looked back at the monitors and saw that a new story had come onto the monitor. Catwoman was impaled on the flagpole of the police station. Her blood was dripping onto the street, creating a large red pool. Her body was limp and lifeless. Gordon was standing outside, pushing the press backwards. This was definitely partly his fault. Bruce sat silently in his chair, horrified and upset. He didn't know how long he'd been there until Alfred had come in.

He looked up at Alfred after a few moments of silence. "It's my fault, Alfred," Bruce murmured. The Butler looked over at Bruce's face and asked him to explain what had happened.

After the story had been told, Alfred looked at the fallen hero, who was pushing back unwanted feelings. He said, "You know, Master Wayne, you cannot control other people's actions. No matter how hard you want to, you cannot take any responsibility in what others do. You may be the cause, but it's up to them to act properly. You didn't do anything wrong."

Bruce stared into space, still feeling guilty. "Then why do I still feel like it's my fault?" Bruce asked.

"Because, Master Wayne, you're a good person and you have a slight hero complex. I'm not sure if you've noticed," Alfred said, gaining a hint of a smile from Bruce.

"So, what do we do now?" Bruce asked, still looking a little lost. The situation was slightly overwhelming even to someone like Batman.

"We wait. The Joker always takes responsibility and this time he'll want you to participate. So we wait for him to reach out to you, like he always does. Then we'll go from there," Alfred said clearly, watching Bruce watch the monitors.

Bruce stared vacantly into the screens, which were relaying the violent bombings that were throughout the entire city. No matter what Alfred said, that little twinge of guilt wouldn't stop burrowing into his mind. It was whispering that this was his fault. He needed to find the Joker, but Alfred had never been wrong before. So, he'd sit and wait. Even if his entire being was begging for him to go, go find the Joker and save the day.

* * *

A few days later, Batman found himself slammed against a brick wall with the Joker pinning him, looking completely wild with anger. The Joker's arm was slammed into Batman's throat and a knife was placed near the Dark Knight's right eye. The silver blade shined in the moonlight and caused it to reflect menacingly against the Joker's white paint, which was smudged off almost completely. He hadn't bothered with it for a while. That was not a good sign.

Their bodies were aligned perfectly. Batman would have noticed this if it hadn't been for the knife that glittered menacingly in his peripheral vision. There wasn't an awkward bone or misplaced muscle. They fit together perfectly and Batman felt alive. His heart was pumping blood rapidly and adrenaline was leaking into his veins. The atmosphere was charged with energy. At any moment, something might snap and then…who knows. Nothing was ever certain with the Joker.

The clown was breathing heavily. The heat from his breath was causing Bruce to get overheated. He'd been running around the city, searching in vain for the clown for days. He always ended up empty handed and exhausted. The city was in a state of perpetual panic. The ceasefire only served to up the anxiety. Gotham was holding its breath, waiting for the final blow to topple it down.

Batman took a few moments to assess the Joker since the man was clearly in no hurry to let him go. His greenish hair was wet and stuck to the sides of his face and neck. He wasn't wearing his purple gloves and his trench coat was singed around the cuffs. He smelled of gasoline and ash. Batman could see the scars on the Joker's face vividly when the moonlight hit his face at the right angle. He looked positively demonic.

The Joker finally looked at him. Batman instantly noticed that his eyes were dark and void. The black paint that was suppose to be encircling his eyes was simply a cool grey color. There was usually some sort of menace or mischief in them, but they were completely blank. His eyes looked bored, which contrasted to his overly violent manner. Batman just stared at him for a few moments. The Dark Knight could see lightly tanned flesh peeking out from the fading make-up. It felt odd to be fighting with him when he was so clearly not himself. It felt wrong. Shaking himself out of his observations, Batman managed to reengage himself in the situation.

"You killed a lot of people, Joker," Batman said in his gruff voice.

The Joker simply continued to stare. His foot was lodged against Batman's legs, rendering him completely immobile. Upon realizing this Batman began to try to get a hold on the situation. He wiggled and pushed, but the Joker wouldn't budge. Usually his brute force was enough to get the Joker far enough away, but this wasn't the usual situation and this wasn't the usual Joker. Everything was different. The status quo was rearranging, twisting and turning, creating new norms and regularities. Batman wasn't comfortable with that. He was never a fan of change.

The Joker grinned slightly after a moment, obviously amused by Batman squirming against him and apparently realizing the same thing that Batman had. Tonight, everything was different. The city was on the verge of collapse. They were on the edge of new territory with Batman as the one lacking strength and advantage.

"Why so eager to get away? Your girl is dead. There's no one left but me," The Joker said quietly, but clearly. His voice was scratchy as if he hadn't been using it for a while.

"I know," Batman said simply, looking at the Joker with complete sincerity.

The Joker stared at him and his eyes began to glitter venomously. After a few moments of waiting to see how the city's fate and theirs would end up, the Joker began to laugh. He quickly took the knife that had been near Batman's eye and slammed it into the Bat's right side. Batman got some leverage and kicked out. He punched the Joker a few times and the Joker hit him with various pipes that were lying around.

The fight continued for some time and Gotham returned to normal.

However, word was soon dispatched amongst the criminal social circuits. The Joker had a monopoly on the large scale villain activity around Gotham, which included Batman. Let all other villains be forewarned. The Joker and Batman were mutually exclusive arch-enemies. There was no room for anyone else.

* * *

I hope that you all liked it. It's been a while, yea? **Please review!! **It's greatly appreciated : )


End file.
